


Fighting Styles

by NamelesslyNightlock



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Arguing, Booker | Sebastien le Livre is Part of the Team, Confused Nile Freeman, Domestic Fluff, Food Fight, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Acting Like a Married Couple, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicky | Nicolò di Genova are in Love, M/M, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Cooks, POV Nile Freeman, Protective Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Team as Family, to be clear he is protecting the food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26660782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NamelesslyNightlock/pseuds/NamelesslyNightlock
Summary: Nicky and Joe are having a fight.Apparently.Nile can’t even tell.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache & Booker | Sebastien & Nile Freeman & Joe | Yusuf & Nicky | Nicolò, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 42
Kudos: 528





	Fighting Styles

Nile didn’t realise that anything was wrong until Booker paused in the kitchen doorway.

“Oh god, no,” he groaned. “Guys, please, take this outside?”

Nile looked over with a frown, and then glanced about the kitchen. Nothing seemed out of place—she was sitting at the table, a book in hand. Joe was diagonally across from her, and drawing into a sketchbook. Nicky was at the oven, pulling out the meal he had been making for the past hour or so.

There was… nothing wrong at all.

Joe glanced up, but merely rolled his eyes at Booker before returning to his drawing. Nicky didn’t look around at all, too busy with the meal. So, Nile decided to voice the question that she was sure would have been on the others' minds, if they hadn’t been too distracted to ask.

“What do you mean?”

Booker’s eyes lingered on Nicky’s back before he stepped into the room properly, then took a seat to Joe's left, directly opposite Nile.

“They’re fighting,” he explained simply. He leaned forward but made no attempt to quieten his voice, yet there was no indication from Joe that he had heard anything.

Nile blinked. “You’re kidding,” she replied. “But how can you even—”

“He’s too nosy for his own good,” Joe cut in. He pointed his pencil at Booker in a manner that was probably meant to be threatening, but really, really wasn’t. “Stay out of it.”

Booker sighed, and opened up the tablet he had brought with him. Joe went back to his drawing. Nicky kept cooking.

And look, Nile _tried_ to be surreptitious about it, but she was too curious. Because—honestly, she _couldn’t_ see anything wrong. Joe was relaxed back into his chair, his pencil strokes even and smooth. Nicky was smiling as he checked over the food, a soft kind of look which only ever came from doing something that one enjoyed.

And, maybe Nicky was a little quiet when he placed the dish of lasagne on the table, but that wasn’t exactly anything unusual. He still let a hand linger on Joe’s shoulder as he stepped around him, and Joe put down his sketchbook and stood to collect the plates without needing to be asked. They sat back down opposite each other, same as always. Joe gave Nicky a smile across the table, same as always.

Nile was just starting to wonder if Booker had been entirely mistaken when Andy walked in, and—

“Okay, what is it this time?” She asked. “Nicky, did you sit on Joe’s charcoal again?”

“Please don’t,” Booker groaned. “Just let them simmer, I’m hungry—”

“Well, I don’t want to deal with the tension,” Andy replied, taking a seat at the head of the table, between Nicky and Joe. “Come on, guys. Let it out. Clear the air.”

Nile’s gaze swung back and forth like she was watching a tennis match. Nicky’s lips pulled up into half a smirk as he lifted some of the lasagne to his mouth, and Joe’s expression softened when he saw the smile.

What. The. Hell.

That wasn’t the look you gave someone when you were fighting with them. It was the kind of look you gave when you were so freaking in love with them that anything they did caused your breath to catch and heart to race, as if they were hanging the stars themselves.

God. The pair of them were always so adorable that it made Nile want to melt into a puddle of goo and simultaneously tear her eyes out—and yet, apparently, they were _fighting?_

“Okay, I’m confused,” she admitted. Honesty was always the best policy, after all.

“So am I,” said Joe. He didn’t sound entirely bothered by that fact. “Nicolò, my heart, pass the salt?”

Nicky handed it to him. Their fingers brushed as he did so, lingering together for a moment longer than they needed to.

Then, Nicky turned to the others. “Joe stole my shirt,” he said—and although his tone was matter-of-fact, he sounded almost fond.

And despite finally being given _some kind of motive_ here, Nile still could not see the _fight._ They were still. Staring at each other. With hearts in their eyes.

“I thought you liked it when I wore your clothes,” Joe replied, soft amusement dancing through his words.

“Usually, yes. And I would not have this time, amore mio, had you washed it afterward.”

“It wasn’t _that_ muddy—”

“And again, I would not have minded, had you not left it next to the pile of clean clothes—”

“ _I_ am not the one who put it into the drawer. Am I to blame for your oversight?”

“Oh, it was oversight, was it?” Nicky asked—and there was a spark of something else in his eyes, now.

“Actually,” Joe said thoughtfully, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “It would not have been left on the bed next to the clean pile in the first place, if you had not _distracted_ me.”

Nicky’s grin widened. “I _did_ enjoy our shower.”

“Okay, I think we’ve all heard enough,” Nile said quickly. “I’m not confused anymore, we all know what the fight was for—”

“I don’t,” Andy said. “Nicky, you don’t normally care about ruined clothes, why—”

“Well, it was not just clothes in the drawer,” Nicky said—and he exchanged yet _another_ look of amusement with Joe.

“Yeah, he’s right,” Joe agreed. “Andy, you know what mud does to good handcuffs—”

“Aaaand we’re done here,” Nile cut in. She lifted her cutlery as well as an eyebrow. “I’m _eating.”_

Joe and Nicky wore infuriatingly matching expressions of amused innocence.

“Well, thank god for that,” Booker muttered. “Glad everything’s sorted. Now can we _please_ just focus on dinner?"

As they all went back to their food, Nile continued watching. Nicky and Joe were smiling across the table at each other every so often, just as they had been before. Andy mentioned how good the food tasted, Nicky thanked her, Joe started up a conversation which seemed mostly focused on riling Nicky up over store-bought, frozen pasta. It didn’t take Booker long to join in, the conversation becoming rather involved as they each tried to stress their point with wild gesticulations, food on their forks or not.

And honestly, there was, uh. There was _no difference_ from the way that they had been acting before. _Maybe_ they were a little more animated but that didn’t mean anything, not when she’d seen them all in their quiet moments, had smiled upon finding Nicky and Joe curled together on the couch. No, that didn’t—their demeanour toward each other was the same, there was—they hadn’t even resolved their argument—just, what even?

Well. Maybe it was just an immortal thing. Maybe one day, she’d learn not to put energy into petty squabbles, learn to save fighting for fights that mattered. After all, arguments would no doubt become tedious after centuries of living together—

“ _Ya khara_ — _Booker,_ you got sauce on my sketchbook—”

“It just slipped, okay? You shouldn’t have left it on the table!”

“ _You_ should’ve been more careful—”

“Careful? I wouldn’t need to be if you looked after your belongings. Maybe you’re the one who needs to be more careful!”

“Oh yeah?” Joe growled, his eyes narrowing as he lifted his fork. “And what if I just… _slip—”_

Booker swore as the piece of lasagne Joe had catapulted from his fork splodged against his cheek. There was half a moment of stillness before Booker retaliated, picking up his entire top layer of pasta with his fingers and _flinging_ it—

Joe ducked, and Andy leaned out of the way as the pasta flew wide. Then she sighed, and continued eating.

The air split as Joe laughed, his expression stretching into wide guffaws at Booker’s misfire, his hands behind his head as he rocked back in his chair with the force of his amusement. Booker pressed his lips together, then leaned forward in a sudden lurch and dug the fingers of both hands into the still mostly full dish that sat at the centre of the table—

Nicky’s expression darkened—

 _Ah,_ thought Nile, smoothly lifting her own plate away from the chaos as Nicky dove across the tabletop, hands outstretched and expression murderous. So the not-fight wasn't an immortal thing. Just a Nicky-and-Joe thing.

It certainly seemed like fights happened as normal when anyone else was involved. 

Thankfully. 

She glanced to Andy, wondering if the other woman was going to do anything to stop the now quickly-escalating pandemonium—but Andy was still eating, her plate safely on her lap. Nile shrugged, and began to follow her example.

Maybe one day, she’d get used to the madness as well—

Then a splatter of lasagne collided with the side of her head, and she glared at the three men—none of whom were paying her the slightest amount of attention.

“Oh man,” she said, scooping up the remains of her own dinner with her right hand and wiping away the sauce from her temple with her left. “It’s _on.”_

Nile might not have experience with their style of fights quite yet, but... she felt that winning this one would be a good place to start.


End file.
